


Wake up, Jemma

by forestfantail



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coulson and May have a pool party, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Jemma is confused, Kisses are nice, Matchmaker Skye, Maybe no bottom of the ocean?, Motel antics, POV Jemma Simmons, Poor Trip can't get any, Pre-bottom of the ocean, Sharing a Bed, Team Dynamics, end of season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestfantail/pseuds/forestfantail
Summary: For the third night in a row, Jemma noticed how stiffly Fitz lay beside her, as though he were trying not to move. It had occurred to her on the first night in this dingy motel that this was the first time that she had ever slept in a bed with Fitz. Certainly, they had fallen asleep near one another on various surfaces over the years: on couches after marathon Doctor Who sessions, on the piles of clothes on the floor of his dorm room at the Academy after a celebratory round of drinks turned into many, many rounds, and once, after a particularly cruel all-nighter cramming for a final, on their lab bench side by side each with a chin resting in their hands.Never, Jemma had realized, had they intentionally climbed into a bed and lain side by side. And now she understood why. It was incredibly awkward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Really wanted to write a fic in which Fitz and Simmons didn't have to go to the bottom of the ocean to discover their feelings. Let the bed-sharing trope commence. 
> 
> No beta and my first fic ever. I'd love feedback, but please be gentle!

Jemma heard Fitz sigh as he closed the door behind them. He paused, just for a moment, staring at the closed motel room door, before turning to face Jemma, who had yet to stop talking since they entered the room.

“Which is of course why the interrogation failed so miserably. If only we’d had a real lab, instead of the diner restroom, then maybe we could have rigged something that looked at least a bit realistic. Honestly, how do they expect us to create a plasma particle bomb—or even something that passes for one—without the proper equipment?”

“Yeah,” Fitz mumbled, without looking her in the eyes. He was rummaging through his suitcase on the floor.

Jemma felt a pang of concern. Poor Fitz. It really wasn’t his fault.

“Fitz?”

“Mmm?”

“Hey.” Jemma grabbed his wrist as he moved past her with his tooth brush. Fitz stared for a long moment at her hand before raising his eyes to hers.

“It’s not your fault, all right?” she said. Fitz looked mildly confused. “The bomb. It looked great, just I guess not realistic enough to convince a former Level 6 ballistics operative.”

“Yeah, I know.” Fitz cast his eyes down again to her hand, still clutching his wrist. “I’m fine, Jemma. Just tired, I guess.”

“At least we know he’s working for Hydra now, even if he didn’t give us any intel on Garrett,” she said, continuing her train of thought. “And hey,” she stroked his wrist with her thumb in an attempt at soothing him, “we’re about to go to bed.” Fitz immediately wrenched his arm from Jemma’s grasp and headed toward the bathroom.

“So you’ll get some rest!” she called after him, slightly miffed. Honestly, what was his problem lately?

 

 

Once they had performed their respective bathroom duties and changed into pajamas (for Fitz an old t-shirt and soft flannel drawstring bottoms, for Jemma a striped red and pink cotton pajama set), they arranged themselves in bed. For the third night in a row, Jemma noticed how stiffly Fitz lay beside her, as though he were trying not to move. It had occurred to her on the first night in this dingy motel that this was the first time that she had ever slept in a bed with Fitz. Certainly, they had fallen asleep near one another on various surfaces over the years: on couches after marathon Doctor Who sessions, on the piles of clothes on the floor of his dorm room at the Academy after a celebratory round of drinks turned into many, many rounds, and once, after a particularly cruel all-nighter cramming for a final, on their lab bench side by side each with a chin resting in their hands.

Never, Jemma had realized, had they intentionally climbed into a bed and lain side by side. And now she understood why. It was incredibly awkward.

Fitz must be very self-conscious, she mused. When was the last time he had slept in a bed with someone?  He hadn’t really dated much since the Academy and even back then it had been infrequently. Like her, of course, he had found most of their classmates to be rather boring.

Or perhaps he always slept like a plank, flat on his back and unmoving? She really had no way of knowing, which in an of itself was odd. How little time had she ever spent thinking about how exactly Fitz slept? As with anything new—and especially anything to do with Fitz—she was fascinated. She would have to investigate his sleeping habits. Perhaps she could improve them. She’d like to improve her own. Bloody hell she was exhausted.

Beside her Fitz yawned loudly, but then appeared startled at his outburst and went back to barely breathing.

“Fitz?” Jemma began tentatively. She did not want to wake him, but clearly he wasn’t asleep.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering about your light.”

“What?”

“Your lamp. It’s still on?”

Fitz looked blearily at the bedside lamp beside him. “Oh,” he said.

Seriously? How could he not know that his lamp was on, filling the room with a warm, dim light? Was he actually asleep? Could he sleep with his eyes open? Jemma was annoyed but suddenly intrigued. She didn’t think it was possible to sleep with one’s eyes open, but if anyone was capable of the impossible certainly it was Fitz.

“Were you asleep?” Jemma asked, with more than a little scientific curiosity.

“No,” he muttered. “Sorry. Do you want me to turn it off?”

“Hmmm?” Jemma was contemplating her disappointment and perhaps a way to invent some method of sleeping with one’s eyes open. “No, no, it’s fine. Whatever you like. We can have it on.”

Fitz made no move to turn off the light, so she supposed he liked it on. Or perhaps he was distracted by random thoughts, just like she was. How difficult it was at times, to turn off this enormous brain. Yes, probably he was thinking similar thoughts. If anyone could understand what she was thinking, it would always and—she was fairly certain— _only_ ever be him.

“I’m so glad we’re here together, Fitz.”

Fitz turned to look at her, and there was confusion and something…undefinable in his eyes. Hope, perhaps? Well, that was good. With everything they had been through since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., he deserved hope. She wanted to give him that. She reached across the bed and tried to feel for his shoulder under the blankets. He shifted away from her, eyes growing wide.

“I just mean it’s good to know that even with all the chaos and death and betrayal at least we still have each other.” She had found his arm somehow and tried to pat it reassuringly. He was so warm.

“Right,” he said, and then he gave the tiniest smile. “Wouldn’t want things to change.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, huffing a bit. “Oh Fitz. Why are you still on about that? Things have to change. They have already.”

“I know, but they don’t have to change for us, do they?”

“Of course they will!” Jemma surprised herself with the force of her own declaration. She clearly surprised Fitz as well, and she gripped the arm that she was touching tighter, pulling herself closer to him.

“Fitz, we don’t have a lab. We could barely make a thing that looked like a bomb today, let alone build one that works. We are on our own, with no resources, no funding, no backup. It’s time to face facts, Fitz. Things may never be the same for us again.”

Fitz had been listening intently to Jemma’s words and now he leaned a bit, ever so slightly, toward her. “But things won’t change between us, will they? I mean, how we are? We’ll still be…together? Right?”

Jemma paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. She brought her hand up from his arm to his face, cupping his cheek and looking directly into his eyes.

“Not even Hydra can tear us apart, Fitz.”

And that’s when the strangest thing that had ever happened to Jemma Simmons happened. And Jemma Simmons had been infected by an alien virus, fallen out of an airplane, and rescued in mid-air by a dirty, lying, scumbag super-spy. Jemma had experienced many bizarre things in her short life, but by far the most bizarre thing ever happened right at this moment here, in this too-small bed in a non-descript motel. Because at this moment, in this place, Leopold Fitz kissed her.

She knew that he kissed her because he sort of darted in her direction and then things were dark and then something soft and warm and electrically-charged was pressed to her lips. And then, before she really had time to process what was happening, everything froze. Fitz and his lips (had she ever thought about his lips before? Certainly he had lips before this moment, correct?) went motionless and then, as though time were reversing, pulled backward as quickly as they had come.

Wild-eyed and looking like he might bolt from the bed and out into the night, Fitz raised his hands in front of himself and opened and closed his mouth several times in apparent imitation of a goldfish. “I’m, god Jemma, I’m so sorry!”

Jemma had no words. She…nope, no words.

“Jemma? I’m—please talk to me, I’m sorry! It was, I got carried away, and…I’m so sorry!”

 And then the next strange thing happened to Jemma, and perhaps it eclipsed that last event even in just how bizarre and twisted a thing it was, because Jemma, without any understanding of how or why or what was happening, leapt forward and crashed her lips, once more, against his.

This kiss was longer and more passionate and involved a lot of movement of lips and—good god Jemma—was that panting? The sound of her own gasping breath broke her out of her trance, and Jemma pulled away slowly, searching for a view of his eyes in the low light.

Fitz was breathing heavily as though he had been running, and Jemma knew that she was doing the same. She glanced at his lips, moist and pink and now she knew also warm and somehow delicious? Mmmm, she thought and felt parts of her body that she usually tried not to think about with Fitz in the room ignite as though on fire. She tried to focus on his eyes and found that they looked darker and deeper; apparently he too was feeling a surge of desire. He also kept glancing back down at her lips.

“Well,” said Jemma, as soon as she regained her voice. Her new breathy voice, apparently. “Ok. Right.”

Fitz flicked his eyes one last time to her lips and then looked her dead in the eye.

“You kissed me.”

“You kissed me!” Jemma spluttered.

Fitz nodded. “And then you kissed me back.”

Jemma felt a bit panicked. “I…I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.” She was overwhelmed, physically and emotionally and mentally and—were there other ways to be overwhelmed? All the ways, whatever they were. Huh, she thought. If anyone could find a way to shut off her over-active mind it would be Fitz.

From his face Fitz was clearly thinking hard (how could he think at all!) and had made some sort of decision. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, their legs touching. He rested his forehead against hers and spoke softly. “I think things are changing, Jemma. That’s what’s happening. But maybe that’s not always a bad thing.”

He rubbed her back with his hand and moved up slightly to give her a kiss on the forehead. Again, she felt a confusing tingling in various—perhaps all—parts of her body, but she also felt so comfortable that she couldn’t move. She tucked her head underneath his chin and gripped her hand in the front of his t-shirt. So warm. Fitz had always been warm, and she had always enjoyed being tactile with him. Hmmm, had she now? This was something she had never given much thought to, her love of touching Fitz. Of saying the word Fitz. Fitz Fitz Fitz. She was going to need to file these thoughts away, for when she had a functioning brain again.

“Jemma?” Fitz asked tentatively into the top of her head. “Alright if I turn off the light now?”

Jemma nodded, although she instantly regretted it when he pulled away, stretching to reach the lamp. He came back to face her and she curled into his side. She yawned.

“Fitz?”

“Mmm?”

“I meant what I said before. I’m glad we’re here together.”

Fitz tangled his fingers with Jemma’s and closed his eyes. “Me, too, Jemma. Me, too.”

  



	2. Chapter 2

Jemma woke up with a breeze and a little bit of sandpaper on the back of her neck. Odd, she thought. She struggled to get away from the sensation, but strong hands gripped her waist. Jemma’s eyes snapped open, and she flung herself across the bed, turning to face her assailant with raised hands.

Fitz blinked and squinted, attempting to focus on her through half-open eyes. “Jemma?”

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” Fitz rubbed his eyes and grunted. For all her unfamiliarity with Fitz when he was sleeping, Jemma was very familiar with freshly woken Fitz. That Fitz was not so pleasant.

“Sorry. I just…I thought you were someone else. An attacker.”

“’An attacker’? And what were you planning to do if I were an attacker? Give me a congratulatory high five?”

Jemma looked down at her hands which were still thrust in front of her in a defensive posture. She put them down. “I was startled. By you. Holding me.” She now realized that the sensations that had pulled her from sleep must have been Fitz’s breath and stubble on her neck.

“Ahh,” said Fitz, which wasn’t much to say. Her statement seemed to have deflated his previous irritation, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said. “Not sure why I was holding you.”

“I think,” said Jemma, slowly recalling the events of the night before and feeling something like a punch to the gut as certain memories came to the fore, “that we fell asleep that way.”

From the look on Fitz’s face he appeared to be going through the same mental process as Jemma. A flick of his eyes to her lips confirmed it. Jemma swallowed. A silence, thick with…many things she didn’t want to think about hung between them. His eyes fell to her lips again, and he opened his mouth as though he were about to speak.

“Pancakes!” Jemma yelled abruptly.

Fitz winced and brought his eyes back up to hers. “What?”

“Pancakes!” said Jemma, effusing enthusiasm that she did not actually feel. “At the motel breakfast bar. Yesterday we got up too late to eat any. But this morning…” she gestured to the alarm clock behind Fitz’s head. Fitz did not turn around to look at the clock but continued to stare at Jemma, as though searching her face for something. Eventually he nodded and cast his eyes down. He seemed a bit defeated.

“Yeah. Ok. Pancakes.” He sat up on the edge of the bed, stretching his back. “Although I recall you complained vociferously about them that first day.”

“Well they’re not as good as our pancakes, of course. But then we didn’t get to eat our pancakes back at the base, what with the gruesome murder and all.” She saw Fitz’s back stiffen as he bent to gather up yesterday’s trousers from the floor. He was still upset over Ward; she shouldn’t have brought up the fact that his former friend was a raging homicidal traitor. She moved off the bed and raised her arm as if to touch him, but then jerked her hand back. Her desire to touch Fitz—desire? was that the word?—was strong but also causing many conflicting thoughts and emotions. Like improvisation, emotions were not Jemma’s strong suit. Damn, she really just needed to take a deep breath and think about pancakes.

“They’re comfort food,” she said, glad that his back was to her and he had not witnessed her stilted movements. “And we could all use a little comfort, couldn’t we?”

Fitz walked into the bathroom. “I’ll get dressed,” he said.

 

Fitz and Jemma went through their morning routine, a routine which seemed more awkward this morning than the previous ones. Fitz seemed just as eager as Jemma to avoid physical contact in the cramped space of their room, and Jemma found herself mildly…hurt? Was that the feeling? How strange. Jemma attributed the emotion to her desperate need for pancakes, all other explanations be damned. Really, after several days of eating delivery pizza and crisps from a vending machine, who wouldn’t want a solid breakfast?

“Ready?” Fitz asked, positioning himself by the door.

“Of course. Do you think they’ll have warmed the syrup this time?” Jemma said, the brightest smile she could muster plastered across her face.

Fitz shrugged but attempted a smile, which just made him look incredibly sad. Jemma’s heart tugged in his direction, and she once again fought the urge to offer him a consoling touch.

“Hey,” she said. They both waited for her to say something more, but no words came. She was not used to having so many undefinable emotions at once. She was starting to feel a bit unhinged.

“So,” said Fitz, now giving her a fond, crooked grin. “Pancakes?”

She nodded and followed him out of the door. Pancakes, indeed. Whatever happened, Fitz always knew the right thing to say. That’s why he was her best friend, and that’s why even with this mild confusion everything would be fine. Through everything they’d go through, no matter what, she knew that they would stay together and she could count on him. Fitz was the best.

 

 

Fitz was the absolute worst. How could he be so rude to Agent Triplett? Trip, who had sacrificed and lost so much, just like the rest of them. More than the rest of them, really. His entire team was either Hydra or dead, and now he was struggling to prove he was trustworthy enough to stick around with what was left of Coulson’s team. And he was giving up all his precious family heirlooms to do so, including the tube of what appeared to be lipstick that Trip had handed Fitz that afternoon in Coulson and May’s room.

“What is this?” Fitz had asked, holding the item as though it were a cat liver.

“It’s supposed to be worn on the lips. Renders the victim unconscious.”

“Victim? Why would you apply a poison to someone’s lips? You’d have to get really close and have them sit still while you administered it.” Fitz snorted and looked around at the group, like he was proposing something preposterous.

Skye grabbed the tube from Fitz’s hand. “Dude, it’s for kissing. You smear it on your lips and then—" she mimed kissing the air, pressing her lips together and wiggling them around, “the kiss of death.”

Skye appeared pleased with herself but then looked around at the stone, cold faces of her team. “Right?”

Fitz took the tube back from her, and Trip smiled. “Well, it doesn’t actually kill, just knocks the person out. But yes, it is for kissing.”

“Then why did your grandfather need it? Like to wear a lot of lipstick, did he?” Again, Fitz snorted with derision, but he stopped when he saw Jemma’s stern expression.

“It’s clear. Kind of like a Chapstick. And let’s just say, my grandfather had no trouble with the ladies.”

“If he’s anything like you I bet not,” said Skye with a smirk. Trip winked at her.

“Yes,” said Jemma, “if your grandfather was as symmetrical and well-formed as you I seriously doubt he had any trouble convincing women to kiss him!” Jemma noticed that her voice seemed to have grown louder and increasingly higher-pitched over the course of that sentence. She gauged the reaction of her team. Coulson and Skye appeared to be trying not to smile, and Trip chuckled. The corner of May’s mouth ticked up a bit. Fitz’s face was frozen, like he was trying not to show any emotion. Jemma wasn’t sure why they were all laughing at her, but she attributed it to her general effervescence. She was quite charming.

The rigid expression on Fitz’s face broke into something that looked a lot like aggression. “Whatever your grandfather used it for, I don’t think we need it,” he said, thrusting the silver metal object back into Trip’s hand.

“Alright,” said Trip. “Just trying to help out the team.”

“And why exactly is that? Last time I checked you weren’t even on this team. I don’t know why we need you or your low-tech nonsense.”

Trip raised his eyebrows and seemed about to respond, but Coulson spoke first. “Fitz, that isn’t helpful. Trip’s on the team because Simmons vouched for him and because we need all the help we can get right now. And we’re using his Howling Commando gear—because it’s really awesome.” Fitz did not seem amused.

“But also,” said Coulson, “we’re using it because we have nothing else to use. I know it’s hard to come to terms with, but we don’t have the technology we used to have. I know that affects you more than any of us,” Coulson acknowledged. Fitz was looking more and more like he might start throwing things. “But I promise you, you are still incredibly valuable to this team, and I need you to be with us on this.”

Fitz nodded, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” said Skye, in an obvious bid to break the tension, “you know what I’d love some more of? Those candy bars from our favorite vending machine. Trip, care to buy a girl one?”

Trip offered Skye his arm. “It would be my pleasure.”

Jemma could hear Skye and Trip whispering as they walked out of Coulson and May’s motel room door, and she saw Skye give a worried over the shoulder glance at Fitz.

Coulson turned to May. “May, care to go a few rounds down in the workout room? I could definitely use a stress-reliever.”

“I’ve got too much stress to relieve, at the moment. I’d probably kill you,” May said, her expression unchanging.

“Fair enough,” said Coulson, as the two walked from the room. “Can we play in the pool?”

Jemma turned to Fitz, who was the only person left with her in Coulson and May’s room. Before she could speak, he followed the others out the door, slamming it behind him. Of all the nerve!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues a bit with the angst from last chapter, but read to the end of it and the happy begins (and continues in the next chapters!).

“Oh, my name is Fitz and I’m just so grumpy and pigheaded and good at locking doors!”

Jemma was standing on the outdoor walkway of the second-story of the motel, yelling at the door to her room. The man chain-smoking in a lawn chair a few doors down stared at her.

“Bloody key won’t work,” she called out.

The man made a gesture that seemed to suggest “well what are you gonna do?” with the hand holding his beer and took another drag off his cigarette.

“Fitz,” Jemma hissed at the door. “Don’t leave me out here.” She tried her keycard again and heard the angry beep followed by a red light. “The locals are…” she looked over at the lawn chair man, who winked at her, “friendlier than I’d like. And Coulson and May are—”

Jemma was interrupted by a loud scream of “Cannonball!” and then a splash. “Regressing to a pre-pubescent stage of emotional development, probably attributable to stress. Or they’ve simply lost their minds.” Jemma slumped against the door. “Please,” she whispered.

It was at this moment that the door opened, causing Jemma to lose her balance and stumble inside. Fitz caught her by the elbows. She looked up into his face. He appeared to be as surprised as she was.

“Why were you up against the door?” he asked.

“Why were you keeping the door locked?”

“I wanted to be alone.”

“It’s not only your room! Didn’t you hear me knocking?”

“I was in the loo.”

Jemma noticed for the first time that Fitz had been crying. At this close distance she could see how red and puffy his eyes were. Instantly her anger dissolved, and she felt a stab of concern.

“Fitz, what’s wrong?”

Fitz dropped her arms and started to walk past her toward the door. “Nothing I’m fine.”

“Fitz. Just tell me what’s wrong. Please?”

“You want to know what’s wrong?” Fitz spun around, facing her with a flash of anger on his face.

“Yes?” Jemma was suddenly not sure she did. Fitz looked at her frightened face and seemed to lose a little of his fire.

“What’s wrong is I’m really hungry.” He walked out of the door, letting it swing shut behind him.

Jemma sat on the edge of the bed and massaged her temple.

Hungry Fitz. A man she knew intimately. Crying and misplaced aggression were not typical indicators of that particular monster. Usually he just whined a lot.

Poor Fitz. Something was indeed wrong with him. Maybe it was the same stress that was turning Coulson and even more shockingly May into schoolchildren? Fitz had lost a friend and his badge and his identity all at once. Everyone was struggling with the changes, but Fitz was for some reason taking it the hardest.

At the thought of changes Jemma recalled the events of the night before. Fitz had said that there was nothing wrong with some change. After he had kissed her. Jemma shuddered, whether from shock or the remembered physical pleasure she didn’t know and didn’t want to contemplate. Oh Fitz. What was happening to them? She hadn’t wanted to kiss him. Had she?

Jemma thought about the way his mouth had fit against hers, the pressure and motion and warmth of their kisses. Definitely she had not minded any of it.

But he was Fitz! Her Fitz. Her moody, brilliant, best friend Fitz. She never wanted to be apart from him, of course, and all her future fantasies involved him beside her. But not in _that_ way. Which is why it was so important to keep their friendship intact and not be led astray by emotions during times of heightened stress.

He was probably just sad and wanted comfort last night. He did apologize. And being in bed with a woman—when was the last time he’d had sex? Abigail Peters at the Academy, perhaps? Jemma wrinkled her nose at this particular memory. She had not had much patience for Abigail Peters.

When, for that matter, was the last time Jemma had had sex? Had it been Milton? Fumbling, flustered Milton. Definitely not her best decision-making.

Agent Triplett, now, there was a man. Very low body-fat percentage and that smile…

Which is why it was shocking that Fitz could be so rude to him. Ridiculous Fitz! Clearly taking his anger out on Trip because he was new and didn’t fit in with the team yet. Which was totally unfair. Fitz was superior to Trip in almost every area that really mattered, from his brilliance to his unwavering loyalty and capacity to see the best in people. Sure, Trip could shoot the legs off a flea or whatever, but Fitz was funny and brave and by far the most interesting person she had ever met. He really was the better man, anyone could see that, so it was unfair for him to pick on someone so at a disadvantage. Like a man among boys, Fitz with all these operations agents.

Well-intentioned operations agent, though, with Trip. She did like Trip. And sometimes the way he looked at her—well, let’s just say she was no stranger to receiving interest from the opposite gender. And it was flattering. But honestly, did he think he stood a chance with a man like Fitz around?

Jemma frowned and rubbed her forehead. She had been sitting on the bed, lost in thought, and she seemed to have confused herself. Why was she comparing Trip to Fitz? That made no sense. She didn’t compare potential romantic interests to Fitz. Well, okay, she compared all men and actually all people to Fitz. And none of them matched up well. But not in _that_ way. Not in a…romantic kind of way.

Of course, if she were to compare them…

Jemma thought back to those kisses from the night before, especially that second one. What had it felt like? If she were going to rate it? She had kissed a fair amount and had made sure to catalogue the general sensations. Yes, that kiss with Fitz ticked all the proper boxes, in fact it had created some new ones. A soaring ache in her chest that she could not quite define and the way she seemed to lose all capacity for thought. These were new to her.

Yes, empirically Fitz was a good kisser. Excellent, even. And this when he was so distraught he probably didn’t even know what he was about.

Jemma sighed and stood to go rinse her face in the sink. No, Trip didn’t have a shot. When was she ever going to meet a man worth dating?

 

 

 

That evening Jemma went to bed early. Or rather, she tried to go to bed early, but when she got back to the room after a quick run with Skye there was Fitz, sitting on top of the covers with a mound of cheese fries.

“Fitz! Don’t make a mess in our bed.”

Fitz smiled around a mouthful of cheese. “It’s just as much my bed as yours, and I’ll do whatever I want to in it.” He licked some grease off his fingers. “You want some?” He held up the plastic container in offering.

Jemma grimaced but reached out to ruffle his hair affectionately as she walked by. “Thank you but I would not eat that rubbish if you paid me. Also, you are going to die of atherosclerosis by the time you’re fifty.”

“I have the metabolism of a hummingbird, Simmons, and you know it.”

Jemma laughed. She was on her way to the shower, but she turned back and walked over to him.

“Hey Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to say, about earlier.”

Fitz paused with a fry halfway to his mouth. Jemma took a deep breath.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, and I know that you’re dealing with countless issues right now. I wanted you to know that I’m here for you, whatever you need. If you want to talk, we can. I know how you get when you’re processing, though, so if you need space I understand.”

Fitz nodded. They both knew Fitz needed space when dealing with emotions, unlike Jemma, who liked to be found and held.

“But if you do want me, I’m here, Fitz. Always.”

Fitz, who had abandoned his fries entirely at this point, gave a weak smile. “I know, Jemma. Thanks.”

“And about last night…” Jemma inhaled sharply, startled at her own boldness. Best say it before she lost her nerve. “I’m sorry, Fitz.”

Fitz looked surprised. “For what?” He said it so softly, Jemma thought maybe she had only read it from his lips.

“For kissing you,” she blurted out. “I mean, clearly you kissed me first—” Fitz looked like he had something to say about that, but she raised her hand to cut him off. “But I kissed you, too. And…longer.”

Fitz let out a shaky breath. Jemma did not know how she was standing there, discussing kissing Fitz with Fitz.

“And I also apologize,” she said, “for not addressing it sooner. I think I’ve needed some time to process as well.”

“And what decision have you come to?” he asked.

“About what?”

“About,” Fitz swallowed and gave her a look that did something odd to her insides. “About the kissing.”

“Oh,” she said, “the kissing was well above average. I’d give it top marks, actually.” Jemma realized she had made a blunder when Fitz’s face froze in shock, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“But of course,” she hurried on, “we shouldn’t have done it.”

“Oh,” was all Fitz said.

“Well, you know Fitz, we’re best friends! And of course, with all the danger and stress and chaotic emotions it makes sense that things might get…confused.”

Fitz said nothing and emoted nothing. His face had become a Fitz mask that Jemma couldn’t read. Sensing that the conversation was getting away from her, Jemma began to speak more quickly and with an almost pleading tone.

“But the most important thing to remember is that we are friends, best friends, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that relationship.” Jemma paused and waited for Fitz to respond. He did not.

“Fitz?”

“Mmm?”

“What do you think?”

Fitz cleared his throat. “I agree. I would never want to lose you as a friend, Jemma.”

“No of course not!” Jemma nodded. Perhaps this was going better than she had feared. “And so, we both are experiencing some pretty extreme feelings and went crazy for a moment. It happens. We both know how confusing emotions in general can be.” Fitz had occasionally admitted to being just as baffled by emotions as she was, yet another thing they shared.

“So, I say we just accept that this accident has happened and move on, Fitz.”

“Forget all about it,” he said.

“Well, no,” Jemma faltered, “but, I guess, if you want to, ok.”

Fitz did not respond or move his eyes from where they had affixed to the carpet. She took this as a sign that the conversation was over.

“Alright then,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower, Fitz. Unless you need the loo?” When he still said nothing, Jemma smiled brightly. “Ok. See you in a bit.” She walked to the shower and closed the bathroom door behind her. Something about that conversation hadn’t gone right, but she wasn’t exactly sure what. At least they had talked, she reasoned. And he had agreed with her. Their friendship was everything. No, she was being silly. He just needed more time to process and everything would be fine.

 

 

When Jemma came out of the shower the lights were out in their room. Apparently Fitz remembered his lamp tonight. Jemma crept quietly around to her side of the bed and snuck under the covers. This time Fitz was curled up on his side, facing her. He still left plenty of room for her, so he must have been close to the edge. How could they call this bed king-sized? Honestly.

Jemma lay on her side and looked in his direction. She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear his breathing. Long and slow. He must be already asleep. And then he hiccupped. And sniffled. And reached up to wipe his nose with his hand. Oh dear god, Fitz was crying.

“Fitz?” Jemma whispered. “Fitz?” she said again, this time louder.

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“M’fine.” He did not sound fine.

“Fitz.” Jemma moved across the bed toward him, and Fitz reacted by moving backward.

“I’m fine Jemma, just—”

“Just nothing, Fitz, let me—” but Fitz did not find out what Jemma wanted him to let her do, because at that moment he pulled so far back to avoid her that he tumbled off the bed and onto the floor, letting out a high-pitched squeal.

“Bloody hell!”

“Fitz! Are you all right?” Jemma leaned over the edge of the bed. “Fitz!”

“Yes, Jemma, yes, I’m fine.”

Fitz mumbled a few choice curse words as he climbed off the floor and back into the bed.

“I’m sorry, Fitz. That was my fault; I didn’t mean to come at you like that.”

Fitz wrenched the covers back over himself with a huff. “Just try to keep your hands off me woman, alright? I thought that was what you wanted anyway.”

Jemma felt something clench in her stomach.

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, you just want to forget about things.”

“That’s not what I said either, Fitz. You said that.”

“Let’s just forget this happened as well. Let’s just forget about everything. Forget I even exist. How about that?”

“Fitz you’re being irrational. I don’t want any of that. Calm down.”

“You calm down!” Fitz’s yell rang out into the quiet darkness of their room.

For a long moment there was silence, and then Fitz reached for her.

“Jemma, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jemma let him find her in the bed and wrap his arms around her. She was surprised to find herself tearing up.

“Oh Jemma, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to—please don’t cry. I’m an idiot. I’m a mess.”

Jemma allowed herself to be held and the tears to flow, but she felt a bit numb. “I don’t want to forget you exist, Fitz.”

“I know, Jemma, I know. I should never have said that.”

“I love that you exist. I missed you all day today, when we weren’t speaking.”

“I know. Me, too.”

“I miss you all the time, sometimes even when you’re in the room. It’s overwhelming, how I feel about you. Do you know what it’s like? To never want to be without someone?”

“Yes, Jemma. Of course I do. That’s how I feel about you.”

And this time Jemma didn’t know who kissed first, both of them reaching forward at once in a motion so natural that Jemma’s last thought was that it felt like breathing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abigail Peters is the name of my headcannon Academy-era girl that Fitz dated. Not sure they actually did the deed (don't get mad at me!), but in my head Simmons thinks (or fears) that they did. It's just hard for me to imagine he's never dated anyone, and I doubt Simmons took it well when he did.


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma woke up with the feeling that something was missing. She stretched her hands to either side of her, still with her eyes closed, and she felt the width of the empty bed. It felt wrong.

“I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful sleeping.”

Jemma opened her eyes and saw Fitz in the chair by their small table, tinkering with some gadgetry. He smiled at her, a bit shyly, and Jemma smiled back. “How are you, this morning?” he asked.

Jemma sat up and tried to arrange her hair. She must look a fright. “I’m well,” she said. She caught his eye and couldn’t help but grin again. “More than well.” Fitz blushed and ducked his head, focusing once again on the tools in his hands.

“Are those the—”

“D.W.A.R.V.E.S., yeah,” Fitz said. “Wanted to make sure they’re working properly. Had a few ideas for upgrades.” He looked up at her once again, a slight twinkle in his eyes. “Also, I’ve seen how you can be when you wake up with someone holding you, and I feared for my safety. I don’t need your aggressive high-fives.”

It was Jemma’s turn to blush. He had woken up holding her. She couldn’t think of a sharp response. The fog of sleep still clung to her mind, or perhaps she was still feeling the after effects of kissing Fitz. All she could do was smile. Smile and nod. Fitz chuckled, seemingly satisfied with this response, and went back to his D.W.A.R.V.E.S.

Jemma stood up from the bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door. She needed some time to think over what had happened last night. She closed her eyes, remembering the way he had felt in the darkness—his hands on her waist, his cheeks still damp with tears. They had kissed until they had fallen asleep, him half on top of her, her fingers still caught in his hair. They had fallen asleep as they had kissed and as they did everything else—in unison.

Jemma touched a hand to her lips. The kissing…yes, it had been just as exceptional as the first time, even better. Perfect, really. Jemma smiled, leaning her head back against the door she was resting against. Snogging Fitz. Probably it was the craziest and most reckless thing she had ever done. Some part of her screamed that she should be careful and pragmatic and think about possible consequences. What if this ruined their friendship?

She shook her head, trying to will the voice away. She was practically an outlaw now, and for maybe the first time in her life she didn’t want to listen to reason.  She could choose anything at the moment, and she wanted to choose Fitz. And snogging Fitz. She wanted to choose snogging Fitz because it felt fantastic.

When Jemma exited the bathroom, she was disappointed to find no Fitz in the room. There was a note on top of the table he had been working at which contained one word: “Pancakes?”

Jemma pulled on her clothes and tripped out the door, a spring in her step. This was starting out to be a wonderful day.

 

 

Somehow, against all the current odds they were facing, the day continued to be wonderful. Coulson had come up with a plan for infiltrating Cybertek, which meant that they were finally doing something. It felt good to be preparing for a mission, instead of sitting on her heels. Jemma smiled, thinking about how different her outlook on fieldwork was from even just a few months prior. Standing in the motel room they were prepping in, she watched Fitz as he and Trip left to carry the tech they would need to the truck. He gave her a bashful smile before the door closed, and her stomach did a sort of flip flop. Her ease with missions wasn’t the only thing that had changed recently.

“God, I am so glad we’re finally doing something. I don’t think I could take another day sitting on this bed, searching and searching and finding nothing.” Skye flopped on her back and gestured to the stacks of papers on every surface and the maps tacked up around the room. “I’m starting to go so stir crazy I’m seeing things.” She pointed to the map of Asia across from the foot of her bed, covered in pins connected by string. “You think that one kind of looks like a llama?” Jemma walked over and tilted her head from side to side, trying to decipher the shape of the lines. “I was going to say a monkey.”

Skye smiled widely and raised an eyebrow. “Got monkeys on the brain, eh Simmons?”

Jemma could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and hoped that Skye didn’t notice. “So, anyway, I thought that Fitz and I could be set up in the back, seeing as it’s important that we focus on helping May and Coulson with their identities.”

“Yeah, awesome,” said Skye. “So, what’s with you and Fitz?”

Jemma shrugged and tried to appear unruffled. “Me and Fitz? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Skye leapt up to a sitting position with her mouth open in shock. “Oh my god you guys did it, didn’t you?”

“What?!” Jemma whisper-shrieked. She looked over at the door that separated the two rooms. Coulson and May were just next door. “We did not,” she said, trying to keep her voice low, “' _do it_.’”

Skye continued to look thrilled, bouncing on the bed. “Did you make out?” She gave Jemma a seductive grin. “Was their tongue?”

“I don’t—it’s not—we’re just—” Jemma tried to find words and then simply gave up. She sat down in the chair opposite Daisy. “Yes, there was tongue.”

Skye squealed and rushed to engulf her in a hug. Despite her intense embarrassment, Jemma was pleased to see Skye so happy. It seemed like forever since she had seen her smile. Also, she felt a bit relieved at being able to talk about what had been happening. She was feeling ready to burst.

“I knew it,” said Skye. “I just knew something had happened. You two have been giving each other these puppy dog eyes all morning. Plus, Fitz is in a waaay better mood.” She gave Jemma a suggestive nudge, and Jemma nudged her back affectionately.

“It was just a snog.”

Skye sat back on the bed, her legs crossed, a look of complete seriousness on her face. “Alright, I’m ready. Describe it to me in explicit detail. Feel free to draw diagrams.”

“Skye! I will do no such thing. What happened between me and Fitz is…” She couldn’t help getting a little lost, thinking over the events of the last couple of nights. “Private.”

Skye gave a happy sigh. “At least tell me how it was.”

Jemma smiled.

“That good, huh?” said Skye.

“Absolutely,” said Jemma.

Skye shook her head. “I knew it. You two are perfect for one another. It’s like you’re psychically-linked.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, but with affection. “Yes, Skye, I’m aware of your mistaken belief in psychic connections.”

Skye nodded. “I’m really thrilled for you guys.”

Jemma could apparently not keep the smile off her face at all today, and she suddenly wondered why she should bother.

“It’s confusing, though,” Jemma admitted. “It’s confusing, and I still haven’t processed all of the emotions I’m feeling. I’ve never thought of Fitz as more than a friend before. And what if things change so much that I lose him entirely?” Jemma realized as she voiced these thoughts that they may be the reason that she kept fighting the joy bubbling up from deep within her.

“No, there’s no way that would happen,” said Skye. “You two are so great together; I can’t see a way that this wouldn’t make you even stronger. Also, whether you realized it or not you’ve totally had a thing for Fitz. And he’s into you, too. It’s obvious.”

Jemma wasn’t sure that Skye was correct (Fitz’s interest had not been obvious to her...), but she certainly enjoyed hearing it.

“I have to admit, though,” said Skye, “I was starting to think you might have a thing for Trip.”

“Agent Triplett?” Jemma was genuinely surprised. “Oh, no. I mean, yes he is quite the specimen, a triumph of his gender, really, but, no, no, I don’t think he compares.”

“To Fitz?” Skye supplied.

Jemma nodded, and they both giggled.

“Well, honestly,” said Jemma. “We’re both thinking it.”

“What’s that, Simmons?”

Jemma gave Skye her best conspiratorial whisper. “The man really knows how to wear a cardigan.”

Skye’s eyes widened, but then she slowly nodded. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Simmons.”

Jemma was very pleased with herself. She was not blind; she had noticed Skye’s blatant interest in Fitz when she had first boarded the bus. What woman wouldn’t be impressed by Fitz? She had been glad when her friend had confided to her that she was developing feelings for Ward. Skye was wonderful, but she wasn’t in Fitz’s league and really needed to back off. Also, Jemma wouldn’t want her to get hurt. Although, here was Skye hurt anyway, over Ward. Hmmm.

“So,” said Jemma, “since I’m not interested in Trip, does that change things for you? I’ve noticed how close you two have been lately. Plus sharing a room…” She motioned toward the double beds.

“Oh, Trip? No,” said Skye. “I’m just keeping an eye on him because Coulson asked me to.”

Jemma was confused and apparently showed it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Skye. “Trip’s great and definitely a looker.”  Jemma nodded. There could be no denying either of these points. “But so soon after Ward…” Skye didn’t seem to realize she had stopped speaking until she caught Jemma’s eye. She shook her head. “I just don’t think I’m ready for something new yet.”

Jemma leaned over and patted Skye’s knee. She felt a little guilty for being so ridiculously happy when her friend was so sad. “But you will be ready. And someone will come along. Sparks will fly again. You’ll see.”

Skye nodded but didn’t appear convinced. “So, yeah, nothing like that with Trip.”

“But Coulson doesn’t trust Agent Triplett? He asked you to shadow him?”

“Not to shadow him, exactly, just to keep my eyes open. That’s why we’re sharing a room. Same reason Coulson’s sharing a room with May.”

Jemma was momentarily surprised, but then remembered the state of their current lives. It was tragic how easily she could believe the worst of her friends now. “He doesn’t trust her yet, does he?”

“Not completely,” said Skye. “He wants, too.”

“Don’t we all,” said Jemma.

“He said something about keeping your friends close.”

Jemma nodded, lost in thought. She came out of her reverie with a snap. “Wait, so that’s why he’s sharing with May and you’re sharing with Trip.”

“Yes,” said Skye.

“And probably why he has you all in connecting rooms, to keep a close watch.”

“Right.”

“Then why are Fitz and I on the other side of the motel? Don’t you want to keep an eye on us, keep us close?”

Skye shook her head. “Coulson and I trust you guys without question. No offense, but you couldn’t lie well enough to be Hydra.”

Jemma _was_ slightly offended, but she went back to her questions. “And Fitz?”

“He’s Fitz.” Skye shrugged. “Look at the way he’s still desperately trying to find a way to redeem Ward. He’s almost too sweet for all this. How could he ever be evil?”

Jemma grimaced. “I don’t even want to ponder it.”

“So, yeah, you guys get to do whatever you want, surveillance free.” Skye raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“Wait, but that doesn’t explain why you have rooms with two beds and we just have the one in ours.”

“Hmmm?” said Skye, as though she hadn’t understood.

“Fitz and I have to share a bed, but you lot,” Jemma pointed at the two beds “each get your own.”

“Is that right?” Skye squinted, as though peering far back into her brain. “Oh yeah, I think I remember them saying they only had that one other room, when Coulson was checking us in. He didn’t think you’d mind sharing.”

Jemma sighed. Well, he had been right. She didn’t mind sharing.

The door to the room opened, and Trip entered. He walked over to the trunk on his bed and began searching its contents.

“Hey ladies. What are you up to?”

“We were just discussing how neither of us has a romantic interest in you,” said Jemma.

Trip paused, holding something that looked like a hair dryer in his hand. “Ok…thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome,” said Jemma, as Skye mouthed the word “Stop!” at her. Skye jumped up and walked over to the trunk.

“Hey, Trip, whatcha got there?” she asked.

Trip gave Jemma an amused and affectionate grin and then turned to Skye. “Not that I’m surprised, but I do question your taste. How could you not want this?” Trip gestured to himself with the hairdryer. Skye opened her half-laughing mouth to respond, but at that moment the door that connected the two rooms opened, and Coulson and May appeared. Both were dressed in blazers and sweaters and wearing black glasses.

“How do we look?” asked Coulson. May scratched at the sweater over her stomach, the scowl on her face challenging anyone to give them a negative review.

“You look excellent,” exclaimed Jemma. “Really, I didn’t think our clothes would fit you so well.” May focused her laser eyes on Jemma. “Not that you wouldn’t fit, May, you’re smaller than I am really, so thin, especially for a woman of your age—” Jemma was saved from continuing her speech by Trip, who walked between Jemma and May with a small object in his hand.

“Found it,” he said. He moved to touch May’s shoulder, but she waved him off. “Touch me and you lose that hand,” she said.

“My bad,” said Trip, somehow just as unfazed as ever. May extended her palm, and Trip dropped the pin in it.

“Now, all you have to do is twist it once you’re inside to get it working,” he said, as May affixed the pin to her lapel.

“And then I’ll do the rest,” said Skye.

“It feels really good to be going out on a mission again, doesn’t it?” said Coulson. He pushed the glasses up his nose with one finger. No one responded.

“It’s the glasses, right?” Coulson grinned. “I always thought I’d look cool in glasses.”

He looked around the room and then motioned toward the door. “Ready?”

“As we’ll ever be, A.C.,” said Skye.

They left the room en masse, and Jemma remembered how good it felt to be a part of a team. With people like these around her, she felt ready for whatever was ahead. And with Fitz—Jemma saw him by the truck and fought the urge to wave—surely the best for them was yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Thanks so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

The mission to retrieve files from Cybertek had been successful, the information in those files leading them to Cuba and their current task of tracking down Garrett and the Bus. The team milled about in front of their Cuban vehicles, chatting and organizing gear. Skye bumped Jemma’s shoulder and nodded toward Trip and Fitz. The two men appeared to be discussing technology for the mission, Fitz gesturing animatedly toward the Howling Commando tech while holding the case for the D.W.A.R.V.E.S. Both of them were smiling.

“See?” said Skye. “The boys get along great when they’re not fighting over you.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Fighting over me? What nonsense. Honestly, Skye, I’m not sure what you’re on about, sometimes.”

Skye smirked and nodded. “Whatever you say, Simmons.”

Fighting over her? Jemma couldn’t help but scoff. Skye was sweet, but she wasn’t always the best at reading people, apparently. Jemma watched as Trip held up his fist toward Fitz in some sort of inexplicable parting gesture. Fitz seemed confused for a moment, but then placed his hand over Trip’s fist and smiled. Awww. Fitz was so patient with poor, awkward Trip.

Coulson came over and briefly placed a hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “You’ve got everything you need?”

“Yes, sir. Fitz is collecting the rest now.”

Coulson nodded but did not appear satisfied. “Take care of each other out there, all right? I don’t need any more surprises right now.”

“We won’t let you down, sir,” said Jemma.

Coulson turned to Skye. “Ready for Havana? I hear there’s a place where we can get the latest in evil haircuts.”

“Ready for action, Coulson.” Skye stretched her arms over her head. “Ready to get off that jet. And out of that motel. If I’m going to be homeless I prefer a van.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Jemma. “Not that I mind the company,” she glanced over at Fitz, “but that was one small bed for two people.”

“Two people?” asked Coulson.

“Yes, sir, Fitz and I were sharing a bed at the motel. You arranged it; don’t you remember?”

Coulson tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy as Skye grabbed him by the arm. “Whoa is that the time? We really need to get going, those Hydra goons won’t Trojan horse themselves. Also, do they have churros here?”

Skye continued a stream of conversation as she walked Coulson over to May. Jemma wanted to ask some more questions—how did Coulson not remember organizing their sleeping arrangements?—but she became distracted by Fitz, who she noticed was looking at her. He waved at her with Sleepy in his hand, and she waved back, trying but utterly failing to keep a grin from spilling across her face. Her and Fitz on a mission all by themselves. What an exciting prospect.

 

A couple of hours later Jemma wasn’t so excited. They were driving out into the Cuban countryside, and the scenery was pleasant, spectacular even. The company, however, was not. Fitz had not said more than a few words the entire trip, and he kept fidgeting, which was disconcerting behavior for the driver of a car. Of course, she hadn’t said much either, she realized. Perhaps she had been right before, and the snogging was going to end their friendship. When had she ever struggled to talk to Fitz?! These last few days were unlike any she had experienced, and she was feeling out of control, a feeling she abhorred. They had joined this team for adventures, but she would never have imagined that those adventures would challenge their very friendship.

Jemma felt panic rising in her throat and told herself to breathe. She reached over for her bottled water, which was sitting in the cup-holder between them, at the exact moment that Fitz reached for his. Their fingers touched, and Jemma gasped at the heat radiating from him. Instinctively, she grabbed his fingers, pulling them toward her until she could hold his hand.

Fitz seemed at first just as startled as she was, but she felt him relax as she laced their fingers together. She sighed, staring down at their hands. Immediately she felt calmer. Fitz, wonderful Fitz. She hadn’t lost him yet; he was right here.

They stayed like that—holding hands in silence while Fitz drove—for what seemed like forever before he spoke.

He cleared his throat loudly, and said “So, seen any good films lately?”

Jemma laughed, and it was odd to hear herself after such a long spell of silence. “Why, are you asking me to one?”

A blush crept up Fitz’s neck, but he smiled, still focused on the road. “I just think, after all of this is over, we should do something fun.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Together.”

Jemma was glad that he wasn’t looking at her; she wasn’t sure she was ready to reveal the emotions that she was sure were passing over her face. “I would really like that,” she almost whispered.

Fitz took a deep breath and then took his hand from Jemma’s. She was disappointed by the loss of contact, but that feeling was quickly overtaken by surprise as he swung the car over to the side of the road and began to slow down.

“Fitz? What’s happening?”

Fitz slowed the car to a stop and put it in park. He turned in his seat to face her.

“Jemma, I know we’ve been alone, but we haven’t had a chance to…talk much.”

Jemma nodded, sure that she was blushing fiercely. Damn his intense eyes. Had he always had them? Well, if Ward could be Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. could fall, then perhaps she could discover that her best friend had the warmest hands and softest lips and most beautiful eyes she’d ever known. The world was turning upside down, after all.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

“Us,” he said. “I mean, _us_ us.” He motioned his hand between them. “I mean—” Jemma took his wandering hand and held it in her own again. “I know what you mean,” she said.

Fitz traced his thumb over the back of her hand. “So, there is an us?”

“Of course there is Fitz, there always has been. You’re my best friend in the world.”

“But you’re so much more than that, Jemma.”

Jemma felt her mouth fall open a bit. She tried to think of a response, but once again she was feeling dumbstruck.

“And I didn’t have the courage to tell you.” He reached up to cup her face with both hands. “So let me show you.” He leaned in for a kiss, and Jemma met him eagerly. With the car console between them the angle wasn’t exactly comfortable, but even so this kiss was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. She followed him a bit with a small sound of frustration when he began to pull away, their lips lingering together.

“Of course, if you’re not into it,” he said, his mouth still pressed against hers, and she laughed and kissed him again.

“I think,” she said, stroking his face with her hand as she pulled herself back from him, “that I am as into it as you are.”

Fitz grinned and took her hand back in his own, playing with it between his fingers. “So,” he said.

“So,” she replied, grinning back.

“Would you want to eat dinner? With me? Some place…nice?”

Jemma laughed again—would she ever be able to stop? “Of course. When our mission is over. But we have to actually do the mission for it to be over.”

“Right!” said Fitz, looking pleased. He looked around their vehicle and then outside at their location, on the side of a dusty road. “What are we doing again?”

Jemma gave an exasperated groan, though the ebullient smile never left her face. “Finding the Bus.”

“Yes!” said Fitz. He moved himself back into a driving position, though he didn’t let go of her hand. “That sounds important.”

 

 

Sometime later Jemma spotted the plane, a pair of binoculars in her hand. “There it is, Fitz!” She pointed toward a speck in the distance. “I knew it had to be at one of these airfields!”

Fitz accelerated. “Where can we park without being seen?”

Jemma scanned the small airstrip, which was rapidly approaching. “Before we get to it. There’s a small shack this side of the plane.”

Jemma continued to watch through her binoculars as a truck made its way from the Bus. The hangar door began to rise.

“Oh no, Fitz! They’re preparing to depart!"

Fitz sped up even more and with a squeal of tires turned them into the drive for the small building. As he cut the engine, they heard the roar of the plane beginning to power up.

“We’re too late,” she said. "I can't take this. I know we aren’t supposed to engage, but I was hoping we could at least track them, maybe send one of the D.W.A.R.V.E.S. onto the plane.”

Fitz shook his head. “Quick, hand me the D.W.A.R.V.E.S.” Jemma pulled the case from the back seat and gave it to him.

“We shouldn’t have stopped. We could have made it well before they took off!” If only she hadn’t been so desperate to keep snogging him. Jemma sighed.

“Now hold on, we’re not done yet,” said Fitz. “Open your door.”

Jemma opened her car door as Fitz activated Sleepy.

“He’s our best listener,” he muttered, “aside from you, of course.”

Fitz flew the drone out of Jemma’s open door and toward the plane, which was taxiing down the runway now. “If I can just get it, right there…” Fitz was staring at the tablet, tapping with dexterous fingers.

The Bus took to the air, and Jemma turned to Fitz. “Did we make it?”

Fitz grimaced at the screen, but then there was a pinging sound, and his eyes widened with surprise. “It worked! We got in with a mini-Mousehole I added and the tracker is working. I’m navigating Sleepy through the Bus’s air vents.”

“Mini-Mousehole?”

“Yes, well, I made some upgrades, remember? One of my Mouseholes to get in tight spots and a long-range tracker that can’t be traced, like the one in Trip’s Howling Commando quarter walkie talkie’s. He’s got some pretty good stuff there.”

Jemma smiled, thrilled not only with their success but also with Fitz giving Trip a compliment.

“Not just his trackers,” Fitz continued, “but also—there!” He yelped and Jemma jumped in her seat. She had been watching the plane disappear into the clouds with her binoculars.

“What is it?”

“See that?”

Fitz turned the tablet so Jemma could see through the drone’s heat vision several human-shaped figures, one of whom appeared to have a rectangle of metal on his chest.

“Is that…Garrett?” she asked.

“Yeah, has to be.” Fitz had a satisfied look on his face. “Which means,” he tapped a spot on the tablet and Jemma heard a small explosion, followed by yelling, “the perfect time to set off an EMP.”

“An EMP?” Jemma was shocked. She tried to move to view the screen again. “What are you talking about?”

“Garrett’s only kept alive by his electronics now, yeah? So, I figured if I could get an EMP close enough to him—”

“You could short him out! That’s brilliant, Fitz!”

Fitz shrugged, but he was obviously pleased. “Another upgrade. I used one of the mechanisms from Trip’s joy-buzzers.” Fitz looked up at Jemma, his cheeks a little red. “Apparently a good snog inspires me.” Jemma thought about snogging him right then—clever Fitz had completely saved the day!—but tried to focus back on the mission.

“Is he dead?” she asked.

Fitz smirked at the fallen figure on his screen. “Don’t know, but he doesn’t look well. You deserve that, mate.” The colors and sounds emanating from the tablet began to fade.

“Poor Sleepy. He’s getting too far to transmit, isn’t he?” said Jemma.

Fitz nodded and touched the screen fondly. “Good work, little guy.”

“Once we get the Bus back we can recover him,” Jemma said, trying to reassure him.

“And he’ll keep tracking their location until we do,” said Fitz.

Jemma heard a sound and looked up to see the same truck that had been with the Bus heading down the road in their direction. “Fitz?”

“Hmm?” he was still tapping his tablet.

“Perhaps we should get moving. I don’t like being here any longer than we have to be.”

“Right,” said Fitz. He returned the D.W.A.R.V.E.S.’ case to the back seat. Jemma watched as the Hydra truck rumbled by the shack and down the road past them. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m going to call the team and let them know our success, ok?”

“Great,” said Fitz. He started the engine of the car. “And maybe we can make it back in time to have dinner?” He said this casually, but she saw him glance up at her with some nervousness in his eyes. She understood his nerves: they mirrored her own. Their next adventure would be daunting, but at least she had her favorite person in the world to share it with.

She leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips. “I wouldn’t want this day to end any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Like for instance, if this day ended with us being trapped in a med pod at the bottom of the ocean with no way out! Wouldn’t want that!” And they laughed and laughed.
> 
> I was attempting with this chapter to still have Fitz do the EMP on Garrett and track the plane, but for them to not have to be in any danger. And also for there to be romance. I'll let you decide how well I did it. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and your comments and kudos! It really means a lot, seeing as I've never done anything like this before!

**Author's Note:**

> All chapters written; going to try to post every day or every other day until it's all up.


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